Tag: noticing

  • Estuary (writing while walking)

    Estuary (writing while walking)

    Knitted into the plot of the novel manuscript I’m working on (which I won’t summarize here) is an estuary restoration project. I’ve drawn on a couple of preserves I’ve visited in recent years to think about what the imagined place might look like, what it is trying to accomplish. Recently, I hiked through the South Slough…

  • If you’ve ever seen a flamingo. . .

    None of my photos are as close-up, glossy, right there with you as the alert yet resting bird Nowhere Magazine paired with my story, “Of a Feather.” But I did see flamingos in Patagonia a couple of years ago, and I did take pictures. And it did start me thinking about other flamingos I had…

  • Duct Tape Obelisk 2

    I wrote about the duct-taped obelisk, subsequently restored, last fall (Duct Tape Obelisk). It’s real—or it was—and it gave me a springboard or an excuse or a pretext to think about birthdays in cemeteries and restoration and rebellion and loss. Some of which made it into a short story, “Give that Girl a Wilson Cigar!”,…

  • Duct Tape Obelisk

    There’s a cemetery I sometimes walk through on my way to work, or on my way home. They’re mostly historic graves, though I think interments still take place from time to time. It’s quiet, with tall trees, a little poison oak, a caretaker’s trailer, and cigarette butts ankle deep at the entrance closest to campus,…

  • Resolution

     I don’t know if I’m afraid of heights, or afraid of getting down from heights–of not getting down–but when the guide said, it looks like rain, let’s start on the roof, I followed her up. Not wanting to miss anything, ready to add to my photo collection, eager to take in every nook and cranny…

  • Snowmelt Drum Kit

    Barely snow, just enough for a two-hour school delay, ice encasing twigs and needles, smooth and clear and full around as if dipped, as even as a candy-maker’s dream, no Achilles’ heel or naked shortbread where anyone held on, only light, a sense of depth and sparkle, even on a dark day. The lowest branch…

  • Walking the West Highland Way

    Having enjoyed and endured twenty-five years of each other’s company in marriage, we thought it was time for a treat and rewarded ourselves with a trip to Scotland and a walk on the West Highland Way with our kids. I wanted one of those luxurious hikes where you spend the night at a cozy inn…

  • Greening

    It is the most beautiful of spring days, Friday the 13th, a good fortune day–why not? The view from my study window is green. Maple green, rhododendron green, cedar green. Most of them two-tone this time of year, old growth against new. I’ve been reading about neuroscience and gratitude and Greece; I’ve been writing stories…

  • Can a great story start with a salad?

    Alcohol. Because a great story never starts with a salad. I noticed the sign outside a bar in my neighborhood. I was jogging, so I didn’t have a camera, and when I thought to go back for a photo, an announcement of the weekly special had taken its place. But it struck me as an…

  • Navigational Accents (Last day in Buenos Aires)

    I saw exactly one woman cab driver in Buenos Aires, the morning of our last day (a day reserved for an art museum and a nice lunch, before an overnight flight). I had planned to walk a bit further before flagging a cab–save a few pesos, get some exercise in anticipation of hours and hours…